


The Forgotten Quarter

by skruffie



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Eye Trauma, Gen, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skruffie/pseuds/skruffie
Summary: Casey faces Feducci in their final Black Ribbon duel.





	The Forgotten Quarter

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Major eye trauma ahead, both as a written description and an illustrated image. There is no extreme gore, but the image may be disturbing to some. There are four images total, and this one will be the third one in the text.
> 
> \--
> 
> Another 2013-era bit of writing that I did after I completed the Black Ribbon society story line in Fallen London. Fun fact: I hate level and item grinding, so when it was time for me to do this in-game for real, I only had a "modest" chance of success and decided to just go for it anyway. The outcome is what you will read here. All of the art is mine as well, and it's work that even 7 years later I am still very proud of. Apologies in advance for any tense changes. That's a writing flaw that I tend to do a lot.

Casey shifts from foot to foot, glancing around the empty plaza deep in the Forgotten Quarter. In the distance, they think they can hear the rumbling of hooves as a far-away hunting party stampedes their way through, chasing down their latest kill. A breeze rolls through, thinning the fog out a bit but not so much that Casey could spot anything from afar. Dead trees scatter the plaza, long-void of sunlight.

The hoofbeats are closer. No—it’s not the hunting party this time. The horse could be several metres behind them, from the sound of it. Right on time, too. He would never be late for a duel.

Casey turns to face Feducci.  
  
  
Their friend's warning from months and months ago comes in handy: the man arrives on a warhorse, and he comes armed with a lance in hand. Strapped to his waist is an additional weapon—his sabre. Both of his arms are completely covered in black ribbons from his previous victories. _Covered_. The sight of them is enough to stupefy Casey, and they only snap to attention when his horse starts to move. Feducci charges, lance poised and ready to end the duel quickly, and Casey only has seconds to react. They dart out of the way and the tip of his weapon lodges into the tree behind them. They dash, skidding over the soil on the plaza as Feducci wrenches his weapon free and takes after them. It’s not long before the warhorse has matched Casey’s distance, and for one terrifying second they’re prepared to greet the boatman—he’s raising his hand up—block, block it, unsheath sword, block, thrust—run—Casey turns hard on their foot–

–And _screams_ , having been yanked backward by the sudden, painful tug of Feducci’s grip on their ponytail. Their head is pulled back and they can see he’s preparing to deliver the final strike. Casey pulls their head forward as far as it can go and swings their sword up around the back of their head.

It cuts through their ponytail and Casey almost falls over from the sudden release, but turns upright and breaks into a run.

Feducci tosses the hair away and dismounts from his horse. As Casey runs, they can hear the hiss of steel as his sabre is drawn from it’s sheath.

Casey parries his next strike, almost falling backwards over the thick, dead roots of a tree as they struggle to ward off his attacks. Feducci is much faster than he looks; there is hardly a spare moment to catch their breath, and the constant chase-attack-chase is quickly becoming exhausting. He’s had lifetimes to master the sword, and Casey has _months_. Parry. Parry. Attack—thrust, no, feint and attack. Parry. Feducci’s sabre catches Casey in the arm—failed parry; he strikes again and Casey twists just enough out of the way where his sabre slices a shallow line down over their belly—parry, parry, parry and run—feint. Attack. Feint–

He falls for it. Casey swings the sword up and he moves to block his head, but the sword-cane changes direction and slices into his arm. Moving fast, they pull it back enough to thrust the blade forward into his face, sinking it into his eye.

When the blade goes clear through the back of his skull, he almost seems to give them a surprise look before crumpling to the ground, and Casey yanks their sword free. Feducci lies unmoving at their feet, and they take a moment to catch their breath before setting to work on finishing the job completely.

\---

Their blade is smeared with gore—disgusting, but easy to clean. Their clothing is filthy, their boots are caked in dirt and dust, and the hasty chop of hair on the back of their head is foreign and cold. Casey doesn’t leave the scene immediately and instead stays where they are, sinking to their knees as they try to catch their breath. Long moments pass before they’re finally able to stand. The adrenaline is beginning to wind down, and the pain in their injuries is waking up. They breathe slowly, taking their time to find the sheath to their sword-cane, and finally make their way back to the entrance of the Forgotten Quarter on trembling legs.

Casey stops when they notice a figure waiting at the gate. His light-coloured suit stands out against the gloom, and when he looks up at the sound of footsteps, the tension in his face immediately gives way to relief. He starts to cross the distance, and Casey drops their hold on the sword-cane. “Roland–” They manage, but the rest of their words are lost when they press their face into his chest, just trying to breathe. He wraps his arms up around their shoulders and Casey leans onto him entirely. Neither of them speak for several seconds.

When the moment passes, Casey mumbles something that he can’t quite catch.

“What was that?” He asks.

“I’m bleeding all over your suit,” They respond with an exhausted chuckle.

He kisses their forehead.

“Fuck the suit,” He says in a low voice. “Bleed all you want.”

Casey winces in pain as they laugh. “Fair enough.


End file.
